


Locked Together

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fighting, First Kiss, Fluff, Handcuffs, John's Dates, M/M, Sherlock Confesses Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3155681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade tries to force John and Sherlock to resolve their bickering, but his lesson leads to a surprising admission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Handcuffs

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

"Well, if you hadn't insisted that we come back early, we wouldn't have missed him!" Sherlock shouted at John.

"Early? We had been sitting in the cold for four hours! It was three in the morning!" John shouted back.

"Criminals don't work 9-5, John," Sherlock said.

"I know that, Sherlock," John said. "Don't treat me like an idiot."  
  
"Then don't act like one," Sherlock mumbled.

Lestrade was sitting on the sofa. He hadn't spoken for at least ten minutes while the two of them had their shouting match. It was tiresome and, quite frankly, recently he had been spending much more time refereeing their fights than he had been solving cases. Yes, it was really quite tiresome.

"All right," he said, standing up. "Shut up the both of you. Just shut up. You," he said, pointing to John, "sit there. And you, Sherlock, just sit somewhere other than there. And nobody -- nobody say anything."

He waited for them to sit down. Because he was the more childish of the two, Sherlock did not sit down until John did.

"This is utterly stupid," Lestrade said. He turned to Sherlock. "You hate stupid -- why are you behaving like this? Don't answer." Then he turned to John and said, "And you, John. You're smarter than he is -- why do you let him get to you? It only feeds it. You know how he is."

"He's not -- " Sherlock tried to interrupt.

Lestrade whipped around. "I said, no talking. Just both of you think for a moment -- when was the last time you actually helped me? When was the last time you solved anything? Quite frankly, I've been reluctant to call you two in . . . this bickering, it's a total distraction and you both know it. I don't know what's caused it, I don't care what caused it, but we're all bloody sick of it. You must be as well. So it ends now. It's over. Go back to your normally irritating partnership because this new one is . . . just ridiculous."

John rolled his eyes and looked over at Sherlock. "We're not doing anything different. He's just . . . irritating. Like he's purposely trying to make me as miserable as possible. Sitting outside in the cold at three in the morning? Nothing was going to happen and he knew that. He also knew I had to work in the morning, and it was going to make me angry. Just because I threw out whatever he was growing in the fridge." He crossed his arms and leaned back, looking at Lestrade now.  

"Shut up, John," Sherlock said.

"Shut up both of you," Lestrade said. He pulled Sherlock up from his chair and pushed him down on the sofa next to John. He sat down on the table in front of them. "Look . . . lads," Lestrade said, ignoring the way Sherlock rolled his eyes at the term. "Look, this isn't like you. I know he's irritating," he said looking at John. Then he looked at Sherlock, "I know, John is . . . well, not irritating but . . . whatever. You need to sort this out. As a friend, I'm asking you to please sort this out, yeah?" He took each of their hands and tried to smile at them. When neither smiled back, he make a quick move and handcuffed their wrists together. He stood up, just as both of them shouted in shock.

"You couldn't just do it the easy way. The clever way," he said, nodding to Sherlock. "Or the mature way," he added, looking at John. "So you'll have to do it the hard way." He moved to the door and then stopped to look at both of them, still sitting stupidly on the sofa.

"Don't bother trying to pick your way out, Sherlock, those aren't standard issue and if you get out of them on your own, I'll have you arrested for damaging police property. Sort out whatever's going on between you and then ring me and I'll set you free. Easy peasy," he said and smiled a little before turning and walking out.

"Do you see what your idiocy has done, John?" Sherlock said, sitting back on the sofa, deliberately pulling his hand so John's arm yanked awkwardly.

"Ow! This is your fault!" John said, tugging his arm hard to make Sherlock's pull. "This is so stupid -- pick the lock immediately," he demanded. 

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" Sherlock said. "Then you'd run off and call Lestrade crying 'Sherlock picked the lock, Sherlock picked the lock.' He's right, John. You've really been acting immaturely recently. Why is that?"

"No! I would lock myself in my room to get away from you and when I feel like I have had some rest from you I will call him and we'll fake it. I really can't take this," John rambled on, twisting his wrist as he spoke. 

"That's not very honest, John," Sherlock said. "In fact, it's totally dishonest. And immature. Is it any wonder I'm struggling to get along?" He bent over as if he were going to tie his shoe, jerking John's arm with him.

"You have no reason to be down there!" John half shouted, standing up and pulling Sherlock's arm hard as he went to his chair, making Sherlock stumble along. He could sit on the floor for all John cared. "This is what I am talking about -- you're purposely making me angry."

Sherlock pulled on his arm but it was too late. He stood next to John's chair awkwardly. "So what? You purposefully make me angry all the time and I don't pout like a big baby about it." He realised he was pushing his luck a bit with that one, but at this point, he didn't care. "Just say you're sorry so we can call him back."

"No, because I haven't done anything wrong. And you better stop lying like that because if you get struck by lightning I don't want to be zapped," he said, shaking his wrist so the cuff jingled. 

"I've had enough, John," Sherlock said. "I'm not standing here all night. Can we at least move back to the sofa?"

"Fine. Call him and tell him it's better now," he said, even though it very obviously wasn't. He didn't know why this had happened or when things had become so strained between them. He didn't like it, of course, but it felt like it couldn't be fixed. They were both so irritated all the time. 

Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket and rang Lestrade. "John said I should ring you and pretend that everything is better now even though it's clearly not."  
  
"Put John on the phone," Lestrade said.

Sherlock handed John the phone. "He wants to talk to you. I think you're in trouble now."

"John, please," Lestrade said. "You know how he is. I'm afraid this one's probably up to you. I know it's not fair but . . . it's Sherlock. I thought you were going to be the one to . . . tame him, but look, if you've had enough . . . you can come stay with me until you get a new place. But you two can't keep making each other and everyone else so fucking miserable."

"I didn't say-- " He cut off and listened to Lestrade, glancing at Sherlock."I suppose I can start looking for flats . . ." he said. "We'll call you later." He hung up and gave Sherlock the phone back. "Where's today's paper?"

"No, John!" Sherlock shouted. He felt a sick feeling in his stomach. "Just . . . stop being such a big baby about everything. Can we just not talk for the rest of the night? Let's just go to bed and tomorrow we'll be better properly and we'll call him and it won't be a lie."

Even though that was the response he'd been hoping for, John felt a pang of guilt when Sherlock got so upset. "Okay, fine. Let's just go to bed." He got up and headed for his room, his arm snagging. Oh. Oh no. "Oh Christ," he sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

Sherlock stopped and looked at John. "What are we going to do?"

John looked over at him. "The only thing we can do -- we have to share the bed for the night," he said. He rubbed his neck awkwardly before starting for his room again.

"And why your room? See? You're just trying to aggravate me. We both know my bed is bigger and more comfortable yet you want to drag us upstairs just to . . . hurt me," Sherlock said, even though he wasn't sure it was precisely what he meant.

John rolled his eyes. "I said share _a_ bed, Sherlock. A bed -- I didn't say mine. But if you're going to be an arse then I will drag you upstairs."

"Fine, I don't care, it doesn't matter," Sherlock said. "You choose the bed. Yours is fine. See how accommodating I can be?" He started to trudge upstairs.

"Oh yeah, a real delight to work with," John muttered.

"You used to like to before," Sherlock mumbled under his breath. Inside John's room, he said, "Fine, just tell me what to do. As Lestrade said, you're clearly the smarter, more mature, less irritating one . . . you tell me. Shall I just lie on the floor and you can hang your arm over? Whatever you want, John, since you only like things when they go precisely your way."

"Oh, shut up," John snapped. "Obviously you can lie on the bed, we'll both just have to stay on our backs," he said. He moved to take his shirt of before realising he wouldn't be able to. "Come on," he said.

Sherlock reached up and unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt and then his cuffs. There was a bit of a delicate negotiation when he crawled over John but eventually they were there, flat on their backs next to each other on John's bed. "If you want to get under the covers, let's do it now because in just a few minutes, I intend to go to my mind palace with the hopes of -- regardless of our being cuffed together -- pretending you don't exist. Are we getting under or not?"

"Yes," John said simply, ignoring the rest of that and pulling the covers up. It was hot and uncomfortable, and he couldn't stop fidgeting.

Sherlock couldn't get comfortable either, but he tried to just stay still -- as if being uncomfortable meant that John somehow won. Eventually, he said softly, "What's happening to us?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "I know how you are with people. They warned me, I see it . . .but I thought I was different." He sighed softly. "The closer we get, the harder it is. You yell at me, call me names, ruin my dates. We flop from just flatmates to friends to colleagues and I can't keep up. One second you want me looking at bodies and the next I'm an idiot, good for only sending texts or fetching your phone. What do you want from me?"

"I do not --" Sherlock started to interrupt but then stopped. "I'm sure you call me just as many names. Plus you've got all your little secret looks with everyone -- Lestrade, Mrs Hudson -- all these little looks to exclude me. Maybe you're right. Maybe you should look for another flat. Do what you want. I'm done talking for the night." He wanted to roll over dramatically but couldn't because of being cuffed to John. So he humphed loudly, closed his eyes and tried to go away from the situation. 

John looked over at him. He didn't want another flat. He wanted to fix this. He sighed softly and closed his own eyes. This was going to be a very long night. He drummed his fingers on his belly while he waited for sleep.

Sherlock went into his mind palace and John was there and they weren't fighting and no one else was there and no one was sharing secret glances with John. It was just John and Sherlock and everything was fine. Everything was how it used to be. Soon his breathing had changed, and he was asleep.

John drifted off and had a dream that Sherlock's head was growing out of his shoulder. Every time he left the flat Sherlock shouted at people, but no one could see him so they all gave John dirty looks.


	2. Interruption

John woke up uncomfortable and grumpy. He forgot about Sherlock and made to get up, stopping when his arm pulled.

Sherlock woke to John pulling his arm. His other hand went to his head, rubbing his eyes. "You couldn't just wake me up reasonably-- you had to yank my arm? Really? You're starting with me already?" He lay back down heavily so he pulled John's arm back.

John stumbled and fell back on the bed. "I forgot," he said. "I have to get my phone to tell Sarah I won't be coming in today."

"Fine," Sherlock said, pushing himself up. "And I need the toilet."

"Oh --- me too," John realised.

"Well, I'm sure we'll be able to handle it," Sherlock said. They walked into the bathroom and Sherlock pushed John towards the toilet and then turned and stepped behind him, back to back. "There," Sherlock said. "You can have your precious privacy."

"That's not a bad thing to want," John grumbled. He unzipped and it took him a minute to get started -- this was incredibly awkward. When he was done, he shoved Sherlock forward.

Sherlock used the toilet and then they moved over and brushed their teeth. Sherlock caught a glance of them in the mirror, and he almost smiled -- it really was quite silly. However, the problem between them hadn't been fixed; in all honesty, the handcuffs were just a symptom of the issue that neither of them could ignore any longer. "Let's put the kettle on and you can ring Sarah. And then we can . . . talk if you think it will help."

"All right," John agreed. He didn't know what to talk about -- he could hardly identify the cause of the problem, let alone the solution. -- but he wasn't going to be unreasonable. Something had to help them figure this out -- or at least get it better enough to be released. They went downstairs and John found his phone, calling Sarah and making up a lie about a case and saying he didn't know when he would be back. 

Sherlock stood around, pretending not to listen but listening very carefully to the inflection in John's voice -- was Sarah making some negative remark about Sherlock and John was somehow agreeing with her? He couldn't tell. When John was done, they moved to the kitchen to get the tea and then back to the sitting room. Sherlock really didn't want to be on the sofa, so he pulled John's chair over closer to his. They each sat down. He took a sip of tea and then said, "So you don't like my attitude? When we're out on a case, and things are dangerous, you'd prefer I sit you down and we can have a dialogue about what's the safest thing to do, each of us explaining our argument and then coming to a mutual decision by which time we've both been killed. You think this would improve our relationship?"  
  
"I'm not talking about field work -- Christ, look how you're talking to me now! Like I'm so beneath you, like everything I'm saying is just the dirt under your shoe." John sipped at his tea and looked over at him. 

"My god, John, sometimes you can be so stupid," Sherlock said, oblivious to the irony of his argumentative strategy. "Really? I treat you like you're beneath me? Most of the world is beneath me, John. Do I really treat you like I treat most of the world? Do you see them being invited into my flat, into my work? You really can't see the difference? My god . . ." He closed his eyes and shook his head gently.

"Right. I'm so lucky you let me send your texts for you," John snapped. "I pay rent here just like you do, you haven't invited me anywhere. Last night Lestrade told me I should probably leave. Maybe I will," he said.

"I did invite you . . . at the beginning," Sherlock said, his voice a bit quieter. He was thinking of the beginning. He swallowed. "Fine, if you want to move out, move out. I don't know how else to be. 'You know how Sherlock is'," he said trying to make air quotes but pulling John's wrist when he did. "I don't know how to be anything other than what I am. I'm sorry." He was still angry but there was something else there as well. He didn't know what and decided he'd rather not know.

John looked down and then over at him, feeling a bit sad and guilty now. This hadn't bothered him so much in the beginning. What was different now? He wanted more from Sherlock, but he didn't know what to ask for. He didn't know how to ask. "I don't want to move. I'm sorry I keep saying that."

"Look, just call Lestrade, tell him we're fine," Sherlock said. "I'll leave you alone . . . I mean I won't say things . . . I'll just go away from you if I feel like that. I'll just leave the room or go in here." He used his free hand to tap his head. "We can call him now and he can come free us and we don't need to talk about it anymore. And when you're ready to move out, I'll understand."

"Yeah, fine," John agreed only because he didn't know what else to do. He wanted to be free. He tried the office first, but Lestrade wasn't there. He hung up and tried his mobile. Again there was no answer. He called a second time, and the third time he left a message. "We'll have to wait --" he said, a noise causing him to turn and look at the door.

"John?" a voice from the other side of the flat's door called.

John watched his date from the other night come into the flat. "Emily?"

"Lunch, remember?" she said, stepping properly inside.

John stood to meet her and got yanked back.

"What's going on?" Emily asked. "You forgot, didn't you?"

"No, I--" John stuttered. Actually all the chaos from this fight had caused him to forget. Yet again Sherlock ruined something for him. "There was an accident and I'm kind of stuck," he said, raising his hand to show her. 

"Um . . . okay," she said awkwardly.

"We can have lunch here if you want," John suggested.

"No, I'm afraid you cannot," Sherlock said to her and to John, sitting back down and pulling John with him. "I'm sorry but you cannot just walk into a flat where serious work is being done and expect John to drop everything for you. We're working -- he'll have to reschedule."

"No, we're not working," John insisted. "Please come in, I can whip something up."

"This is . . . odd. How long do you have to keep this up?" she asked, glancing at Sherlock.

"I've called the police officer already, so it shouldn't be long."

"But he has to eat with us?" 

"It's my bloody flat!" Sherlock shouted.

"No choice," John said to Emily, his voice trying to stay calm.

Sherlock felt like throwing a proper tantrum but he didn't. Instead he followed John to the kitchen, but did not take his eyes off the woman. He bent down and said under his breath, "I am telling you right now, John, this is a bad idea. I'm making that clear in advance."

"Why? Just let us have a quiet lunch," John said quietly. He looked through the kitchen and grabbed some bread. As he moved to the fridge to find something to make sandwiches, he asked Sherlock to start the kettle.

Sherlock put on the kettle. He already knew this was not going to be a quiet lunch. He looked over at the woman. "Don't you have a job? Why are you wandering around hassling people in the middle of the day?" he asked her.

"Sherlock, stop it," John said.

"It's my day off," she said, glaring at Sherlock.

"And what do you normally do? Are you the airline stewardess or am I confusing you with one of the others?"

"What others?" Emily asked.

"No -- he means exes," John said. He tugged his arm hard to try to physically rein back Sherlock.

"Well how many are there?"

"No -- it's not that many," John said. He threw Sherlock a warning look, hoping he'd keep quiet.

"You're not the stripper, are you? I told John he was out of his league with that one. Is that why you're going around interrupting people's work day since you normally work nights?"

"How dare you?" Emily half shouted. "John, what the hell?"

"Sherlock! Emily, he's lying. He's just angry and he's being an arse, I'm sorry."

"Look, if you didn't want to have lunch with me --" she started.

"No, of course I do, it's just --"

"Oh yeah, wanted it enough to forget?" she snapped. "This is just . . .too much. I'm leaving. When you get this sorted . . . don't call me." She stormed out and John could only stand there, watching the spot where she had been.

"You arse! You complete arse!" John shouted as soon as she was gone. He shoved Sherlock, but his own arm pulled. He growled and pushed Sherlock again. "Why? Why do you keep doing this to me?"

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock said. "You're the one who chooses bad girlfriends. If you want to find someone who'll stick around, make better choices." He poured two mugs of tea and couldn't help smiling a bit. 

"Oh, it's funny, is it? I'm glad you're fucking laughing. There was nothing wrong with her! It's you -- it's always you saying things like that!" His already cranky mood from sleeping uncomfortably was only escalating now with Sherlock's cavalier attitude about it all. 

"John," Sherlock said. He was no longer smiling even though he still felt a bit like doing so. "Just relax. Why don't you stop going out with idiots and try to find someone who actually appreciates you for you -- even if that means sometimes having to leave dates for cases?"

"They don't mind the cases, Sherlock. They mind coming over here and getting called strippers and the wrong names. It makes me look like I have a whole bunch of them at the same time -- I don't understand why you keep doing that," John insisted. "I refuse to believe someone who remembered 200 different ashes can't remember women's names."

"Because I don't care about their names!" Sherlock shouted, trying to stomp away but pulling John as he turned. He stopped moving but focused his eyes past John, past the room, out towards the window.

"Fine. That's fine. But don't you care about me? Even a little bit?" John snapped. "I just . . . I don't understand why you keep sabotaging things like that."

"Precisely because I do care, you idiot!" Sherlock said. "Don't you get it? Why are you so blind sometimes, John!"

"Get what?" John asked. "You care about me so much that you always demand I'm in the flat and you always ruin dates and . . ." He trailed off suddenly. Oh. No. That couldn't be -- did Sherlock mean . . .? He looked up at Sherlock. "Tell me what you mean." 


	3. Admission

"No," Sherlock said. "If you don't know . . . I don't know what I'm saying. Forget it. Go back to your stupid women and just forget it -- just forget about me."

"No, because you won't bloody let me," John said. He tugged Sherlock's arm. "Tell me," he said again. 

Sherlock turned his body away from John's. "Why don't you just stay here . . . with me? Sometimes . . . I just want you to want to stay here. With me."

"And what? Just stare at each other?" John asked, tugging his arm so Sherlock faced him again. 

"No . . . talk or . . . whatever you do on your stupid dates," Sherlock said, still not meeting John's eye.

"And why would you want to pretend date me, Sherlock?" He wished Sherlock would look at him. 

"I don't want to pretend to date you, John. It's just . . ." Sherlock said. "It's just -- I want you to want to be with me. Not just for cases. I want you to want to be with me . . . other times. All the time."

"Why?" John insisted. "Tell me -- just say it, Sherlock."   
  
"Because . . . it's how I feel," Sherlock said, not sure how else to say it.

"Sherlock . . ." John sighed and rubbed his forehead. John didn't know what he meant -- was he being selfish? Or did he have feelings for John? "Just . . . fine," he finally said. He went to walk away and his arm pulled. He sank down in his chair and let his arm dangle a bit as he stared at the fireplace. 

Sherlock stood beside John's chair. "I'm sorry for my feelings, John." 

"What feelings, Sherlock?" John asked, looking up at him. "I don't know what you're feeling because you won't tell me anything." 

"I try to tell you all the time," Sherlock said. He stepped a bit behind John's chair as if that would protect him somehow. "I try to tell you . . . I want to be with you."

"Why?' John insisted. "Because you've never had a friend before? Because I can help with cases? Because I write a blog about you? Because I send texts? Because you like looking at me?" He turned his head but only half way, trying to do him the courtesy of not actually looking at him when he was so obviously trying to hide. "I'm with you almost all of the time already." 

"Because of all those things," Sherlock said. "And you're not with me all the time-- you run away the first chance to you get."

"I don't run away, Sherlock. I just . . . live. I want different things -- things you said from the beginning you didn't want. You can't just sabotage my life and expect me to know what you mean by it."  

"But we have a life . . . don't we? I just want our life, John, but you always want to go away with them."

"Because I crave more intimate things, Sherlock. I'm not running around just to find a different best friend."

"Why can't I give you those things? Just tell me . . . I will," Sherlock said.

"Because you said you didn't do that sort of thing!" John sighed heavily. "You can't just offer yourself to me because you feel bad about the fighting." 

"That was before. That's how I was. That's how I was before you," Sherlock said. "And I don't have these feelings because we were fighting. We were fighting because I have these feelings. And I don't know how to be when it comes to feelings. I'm not . . . good at those things."

John looked over at him properly now. "I want you to say what you mean, Sherlock. I just . . .I want to hear you say it." John's voice was quiet and almost desperate. He was tired -- all the time Sherlock spouted information and now getting his feelings out of him was like pulling teeth. "Please." 

"It's just . . . I want you to love me and not them. Because I don't love anyone else but you. I never have. I want it to be me."

John stood up again and moved around the chair to him, tugging at his arm so he wouldn't pull away. "I do love you," he said quietly, taking Sherlock's hand now.

"No," Sherlock said. "Not like that. Don't you just say things to try to end the fight. I'm sorry, John. I wasn't expecting to feel this way. Obviously. I wasn't expecting it and I'm sorry I don't know how to do it right. I understand if you want to leave and then you can go be with them without being interrupted."

"I'm not saying it to end the fight! I've loved you for a long time now -- I tried to ask you out that night at Angelo's and you said it wasn't your thing. I wasn't going to pine, not if I wanted to keep living with you. So I tried moving on."

"That's stupid, John. You didn't even know me that first night. It's like the more you got to know me, the more you were chasing them. It doesn't make sense," Sherlock said.

"Well, you ask people out when you first meet them because you want to know more. You shot me down so I settled for friendship. I kept dating because you never showed any sign of having changed your mind," John pointed out. 

"But I did, John," Sherlock said softly. "I showed you all the time and you just . . . got more and more mad at me. It feels like all I do is beg you to stay with me and you . . . just yell at me."

"But you didn't. You just called me names and used me to do little jobs for you," John sighed. "I could tell we were friends but I never got a hint of more."

"What was I supposed to do? I don't know how to be. You never told me your feelings and you're . . . normal. How am I supposed to know how to tell you directly? I tried the only things I could think of."

"Sherlock, all you had to tell me was how you felt. Not these games we've been playing with sabotage and whatever else."  
  
"But I had to try to stop you, John. It was . . . I had to," Sherlock said awkwardly. "You don't understand."

"I do understand now that you've told me how you feel."

"You were breaking my heart," Sherlock said softly. "I didn't mean to be horrible . . ."

John felt his face flush with shame. "I didn't know. . ." he mumbled, taking Sherlock's hand again.

"Don't break it anymore," Sherlock whispered.

John pulled him into a hug and shook his head. "I won't. I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry I didn't understand."

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you right," Sherlock said. He let himself sink a bit against John and it finally felt okay again.

"You didn't tell me at all, goof," he teased quietly.

"Whatever," Sherlock said. "Don't be mean to me anymore, please."

"You don't be mean to me," he mumbled.

"I won't," Sherlock said. He stepped back a little. "I . . .what-what do I do now?"

"Well, we can call Lestrade again or we can . . . kiss?" John said, wondering if he was pushing his luck.

"We could try kissing," Sherlock said softly. He didn't know quite where to look or what to do.

"Okay," John said, leaning up and kissing his lips softly.

Sherlock kissed back. John's lips were soft and Sherlock felt like he could smell the shampoo in John's hair. He'd never really smelled it before -- except when he was in the bathroom after John showered. Then the smell filled the room. And now he was smelling it on John and Sherlock lifted his free hand and lost it in John's hair.

John moaned softly and held his hips, tugging him a bit closer.

"John . . .I --" Sherlock said but it was like he wanted to say everything but nothing would come.

"What is it?" John murmured, sliding his hands up to his neck, which was awkward now with their wrists together.

"I want to lie down by you . . . please," Sherlock said quietly.

"Yes, let's go," John said, pulling his hand and leading the way up to his room. "Is my room okay?"

"Okay," Sherlock said stupidly. He followed John upstairs. Stepping into John's room, he felt he'd never been inside it before. It was stupid. Why was he being so stupid? He just looked over at John, as if waiting to be told what to do.

"Come on," John said quietly, crawling on the bed and tugging Sherlock to join him. He lay down and faced him, touching his side lightly. "Kiss me again."

Sherlock leaned in and kissed John's mouth -- a little harder this time. He put his free hand on John's hip as well. Sherlock closed his eyes and pressed close to John. 'This is what I wanted, John," Sherlock said. "It's what I wanted you to want from me." He slid his arm around him. 

"I do want this," John said. "You just have to be clearer next time," he said.

"All right, I'll try to be clearer," Sherlock said. The truth is he wasn't quite sure what that meant -- literally how he could be clearer without actually saying things out loud, which seemed like an impossibility to him in a way that he knew John couldn't understand. But he would try.

John smiled and continued kissing Sherlock, breaking away to pet his hair. "Everything will be better now, okay?"

"I hope so," Sherlock said. He cuddled John a little. "Should we try Lestrade again? Then we won't have to lie."

"Yeah. Have you got your phone on you?" John said.

Sherlock wiggled back a bit and reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone. He rang Lestrade.

"Please come over now," Sherlock said, possibly too politely. "We've sorted things now. We really have. Here -- John will prove it." He handed the phone to John.

"John, is he forcing you to comply? Are you safe?" Lestrade said, half-jokingly.

"Everything is great -- we really have sorted it all out," John said. He smiled at Sherlock.

"And are you planning to be at each other's throats again, John?" Lestrade asked. "I need this to be the end of the problem or . . . honestly I won't bother calling about cases anymore."

"No, it's really the end of it all. There won't be any more problems," John assured him.

"Be over in ten," Lestrade said, hanging up.

Sherlock took the phone from John. "We should probably not be on your bed kissing when he arrives," he said to John.

"I agree," John said, sitting up and tugging his hand. "Let's go wait for him so we can get these off."

Before he got up, Sherlock reached over and grabbed John's hand. "Why don't you ask me out on a date? I want you to," he said softly.

John smiled. "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

"Yes, please," Sherlock said.


	4. Date

Sherlock stood up and followed John downstairs. "Let's make a cup of tea," he said and they went into the kitchen to do so. Then they carried their cups to the sofa and sat next to each other. Well, Sherlock sat rather close to John. "Should we tell him what the problem was and how we fixed it?" He wasn't sure what John's answer would be, and he wasn't sure what his own would be.

"I think the problem is too complicated to explain, but we can tell him how we fixed it." John smiled. "He's going to be so surprised."

"I'm surprised," Sherlock admitted. He smiled over at John and touched his arm and then his leg, just because he could.

John grinned. "I am surprised as well but I'm happy. Very happy."

Sherlock smiled. He thought he heard a noise. "He's here," he said, standing up awkwardly and then sitting back down again. There was a knock at the flat's door. "Come in," Sherlock said.

Lestrade came in. He looked at them and smiled. "All right," he said. "This had better be the end of all this. I do have other work to do besides solving your domestics, you know." He moved over to them and reached into his pocket to retrieve the key.

"It's all sorted now that we know what the issue was. Of course, we might be just as annoying making out all the time," John said casually, smiling at Sherlock.

"Jesus Christ," Lestrade said, glancing up at Sherlock who was . . . oh my god, he was _smiling_. Then he looked over at John. "Can I have a quick word?" he asked. He pulled John a bit to the side.

Sherlock followed. "I'm not leaving. Whatever you want to say, say it in front of me."

"Fine," Lestrade said. He looked over at John. "I don't understand what you're doing. I mean . . . he's interesting, that's for sure, but I didn't think this was your thing and if it is, are you sure he's the right one to be doing this with?"

"I don't have a thing, okay? And I've wanted this since I moved in here. I love him," John insisted.

Lestrade looked over at Sherlock. "And this is your thing now as well? All of a sudden, you are interested in . . . feelings?"  
  
Sherlock just looked over at him, holding John's hand freely now that the cuffs were gone.  
  
"Look, I can't tell if it's one or both of you," Lestrade said, "but if this is some little game to prove a point, just don't bother. Do what you want -- fight as much as you want. This is all too . . . much for me." He shook his head and headed to the door.

"Well, that went well," Sherlock said once he was gone.

"I didn't think he'd be so angry," John chuckled. "Oh well. Now, what would you like for dinner?"

"You're not just trying to prove a point, are you?" Sherlock asked, suddenly feeling worried again.

"What?  Of course not, Sherlock. Are you?"

"Obviously not," Sherlock said, smiling lightly. "You asked me out on the date, shouldn't you be the one to choose?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I want you to have a good time," he smiled. "Angelo's sound good?"

"That's where we went on our real first date," Sherlock said. "That sounds good."

"Okay, great. I'm going to shower and get ready for it, okay?" He moved to the stairs and found it a bit odd that he wasn't pulling Sherlock with him.

"All right," Sherlock said. He went into his own room and chose some clean clothes. Once John was ready, Sherlock went into the bathroom for his shower. He felt a little gross after being in the same clothes for so long. Under the water, he wondered about whether or not John and he might do more kissing . . . and more than kissing. He imagined being naked in front of John. He had been before, he was pretty sure, but this would definitely be different.

Once he was ready, he came out to find John who was waiting for him in the sitting room.

John smiled and stood up. "Ready?" he asked, taking Sherlock's hand again and making his way for the door. "Do you want to walk there? It's a nice night."

"Let's," Sherlock said, following John. "Did you put as much energy into getting ready for this date as you normally do? Don't say yes, because I know you didn't. Why didn't you?" he asked as they walked. He reached over and held John's hand. It kind of seemed normal now -- after being cuffed together for so long.

"Are you saying I don't look nice?" John asked in mock offense.

"Of course you look nice, you always look handsome," Sherlock said. "I just didn't see you looking nervous and a little sick to your stomach like you usually do before your dates."

"Because I know you already like me," John smiled.

"So you're not nervous at all?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "I'm just really happy."

"I am nervous, John," Sherlock said, his voice more panicky than he intended it to be. "Does that mean something bad?"

"No, but why are you nervous?" John asked, squeezing his hand.

"Because we're going on a date!" Sherlock said. "I've had to watch you go on them a million times and now I'm on one with you and it's . . . weird." He glanced over. "In a good way. . . but still."

"Well, let's not think about any of those other ones," John said.

"All right," Sherlock said. They walked the rest of the way in silence, but still holding hands. When they got there, Sherlock held the door open for John.

John went to their usual table, smiling at Angelo as he brought over the menus. "A candle," John said as if Sherlock should be impressed with this fanciness.

"We're on a date," Sherlock told Angelo. Then his face went a bit warm and he stared at his menu.

"I know. You two have dates here all the time," Angelo said.

Sherlock glanced over at John.

"Can we get some wine? Something to complement our usual?" John asked.

"Of course!" Angelo hurried off and John chuckled, fiddling with the candle again.

"So far, you're an excellent date, John Watson," Sherlock said.

"Oh good," John smiled. "Maybe I'll get a good night kiss," he winked. He felt so giddy and happy.

"Maybe," Sherlock said. He thought for a few moments about kissing John. He kind of felt like doing it right now, but didn't know if he should. "We'll see."

John smiled softly. "Hmm, I'd better be good then," he teased. Angelo came with the wine and John thanked him, pouring each of them a glass and then leaving. "Have you done any good experiments lately?" John asked Sherlock. 

"John," Sherlock said. "You already know the answer to that. We've pretty much been together almost everyday for the last week and you've not seen me do any experiments. That'd be like me asking 'Have you been handcuffed to anyone lately?' Just be normal, John. I like you when you're normal John."

"I'm just trying to make conversation. For all I knew you grew a new bacteria in your room or something," he smiled.  

"Are you calling me messy?" Sherlock said. He smiled so John knew he was just teasing him. Angelo brought over their meals and when he left, Sherlock reached over quickly and touched John's hand and then tried to eat a bit of food.

"I wasn't calling you messy, but if you were using the last of the milk to grow said bacteria then you would hide it before I yelled at you," he smiled, pulling his plate close to start eating.

"That kind of stuff was just my way of flirting with you, you idiot," Sherlock said.

"Stealing all of the milk?" John laughed. "Next you'll tell me that shooting the wall was a marriage proposal," he joked.   
  
"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock said. Sherlock wondered if John would sleep in his room tonight or if he would think Sherlock had something gross in there. "Are we going to tell Mrs Hudson what is going on? She's going to be stupidly happy and smug."

"Yeah, but let's wait until tomorrow, okay? That'll be easier," he said. "I want to tell everyone -- even put it in the blog if you'll let me..."

"I don't think the blog is a good idea," Sherlock said. "Don't be angry though. Let's just start with Mrs Hudson."  
  
They finished their meal and headed out. When they passed a small shop, Sherlock said, "Hold on -- let me nip in here for a minute," returning quickly with a bag stuffed into his pocket. He grabbed John's hand, and they walked the rest of the way home.


	5. Home

Sherlock made them each a cup of tea. He brought them in and sat down next to John on the sofa. "Should we watch telly or something?"

John nodded. "Will you sit close? Cuddle with me?" He felt a bit shy asking but he tugged at Sherlock at the same time.

"All right," Sherlock said. He moved even closer and leaned a bit into John. Then he wiggled a bit to get more comfortable. He turned on the television and handed the remote to John. "You choose."

"No you," John countered, not taking the remote from him. For extra measure he stuffed his hand behind Sherlock and held him instead.

"Fine, this, we'll watch this," Sherlock said even though he had no idea what it was. After a few minutes, he realised it was a ridiculously stupid sitcom, but he didn't really care. In truth, he was thinking about kissing John. He was thinking about having sex with John.

John chuckled every once in a while with the show, sipping at his tea and absentmindedly stroking Sherlock's side. This was very nice -- a perfect slow evening to get used to things changing between them.

Sherlock tried to make a few laughs when John did. He liked John touching him. He really liked it. He stayed looking at the television but mainly he was just thinking about John's fingers touching his side. 

"You're not feeling nervous anymore, are you?" John asked when the show ended.

"No, I'm all right. Are you nervous now?"

"No. I'm comfortable. This was a good night," John smiled. He kissed the top of Sherlock's head.

"It was. The best date I've ever had," Sherlock said. He turned off the television. "Let's go to bed now."

"Oh," John said, looking up at Sherlock as he was going. He hurried to follow, going into Sherlock's room. "Did you mean together?" he asked at the door.

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "Here," he said, throwing John the small bag from the shop. He started to take off his clothes. He was nervous, but he was trying not to think about it.

John glanced at him taking his clothes off and then into the bag. Lube and condoms. Oh. "Uh, Sherlock?" John said. So much for going slow.

"You said to be clear. I'm being clear," Sherlock said. Once he was undressed, he slipped under the covers and looked at John. "Please get in the bed with me. I want to have sex."

"You -- but I thought we were taking things slow," John stammered, peeking into the bag again.

"No one said anything about taking it slow. I don't want to take it slow. I'm being clear, aren't I?" Sherlock said.

"You are but I thought . . .you were nervous and worried," John said. Slowly he was taking his shirt off.

"I am nervous," Sherlock said, fiddling with the edge of the sheet. "That doesn't stop me from wanting to do it."

"I . . .well, I want to as well, of course, but . . ." He slipped out of his trousers and got under the covers, still holding the bag.

"But what? Is it because I'm a man? Or because I'm me? I bet you're not nervous like this when your other dates want you," Sherlock said, now feeling a bit sad instead of nervous.

"It's not any of that. And when my other dates want me it's not . . .I mean, are you sure? You were so skeptical before." John bit his lip. "Of course I want you, Sherlock. You're handsome and sexy and I just want you to be sure."

"I'm skeptical about the emotions -- only because they're new to me," Sherlock said. "You know me well enough to know I'd never do something I didn't want to. I want to, John. Please."

John scooted closer and kissed his mouth.

Sherlock pushed into the kiss and moved his hands to John's back. He squeezed John tightly towards him. "Don't be nervous," he whispered. "I know what to do. It'll be okay."

"You know? Have you done this before?" John asked stupidly, pressing against Sherlock.

"A long time ago," Sherlock said. "But I've not wanted to . . . until now. Until you." He pulled John a little bit towards him, so John was lying partly on top of him. He looked up at his face. "You're handsome," he said and lifted his head up a bit to kiss him again.

John eagerly kissed him back, rubbing his sides and rolling his hips lightly.

"Will you do it to me?" Sherlock said softly, thinking it might be less daunting for John. He imagined for a moment in his head, and he could feel his cock starting to grow hard against the movement of John's hips.

"Sure," John murmured, kissing him again. "We can do it however you want," he said against his lips.

Sherlock's hands moved across John's back, touching the skin he'd never touched before. He made a quiet hum as they kissed again. Then he moved his mouth down John's cheek to his neck and sucked softly on the skin.

"Is that how you usually do it?" John asked, grinding down harder on him

"I don't usually do it, John," Sherlock said, looking up at him again. "All that matter now is us, okay? Not your dates, not anyone. Just us." He felt his hips moving up against John. He lifted one hand to the back of John's head and held it as he kissed his mouth again.

As they kissed John reached down and started stroking Sherlock softly.

Sherlock gasped a little at the feel of John's hand on him. He closed his eyes and memorised every sensation. Then he opened them again and memorised the look on John's face before he kissed him again. He kept his hand in John's hair but let his other one move down to his hip and slid it between their bodies to hold John's cock.

John rolled into Sherlock's hand, moaning softly as they moved together. "We're the only ones who matter . . ."

"That's right, John," Sherlock said, kissing his mouth hungrily again. He pushed John over onto his side so they were facing each other and it was easier for both of them to reach. He went back to sucking on John's neck, tracing kisses across his collarbone.

"I want you so badly already," John murmured, pressing closer. He moved over to get on Sherlock again, rolling against him harder.

"Use your fingers," Sherlock said softly, lifting his hips against John. "Here," he said, brushing his hand to push the bag towards him.

John fished into the bag and pulled out the lube. He scooted back and heatedly kissed Sherlock's stomach, pouring some into his hand and spreading it all over. He nipped at Sherlock's navel before pressing a finger into his body.

"John," Sherlock exhaled. "Go slow okay? Give me your hand," he said, reaching down.

John brought his free hand to Sherlock's, gently pumping his finger and kissing his hips.

Sherlock moved both their hands to his cock which he stroked slowly. "It feels good, John," Sherlock said. "You're good." He looked down but it was almost too much so he dropped his head against the pillow and squeezed shut his eyes, just concentrating on what John was doing to him.

John laced their fingers and took his cock into his mouth instead, bobbing up and down before slowly adding a second finger into Sherlock.

"John," Sherlock called out loudly. He hadn't been expecting John to use his mouth, and it wouldn't be until much later that he wondered if John had ever done it before. He didn't think of that now, though, because the feeling meant he could think of nothing else but the warm softness of John's mouth closing around him. The only problem was that he was now so close to coming. "John," he said again. "Please . . . I'm ready."

John pulled off slowly and then pulled his fingers out gently. He reached into the box for condoms, rolling one on quickly and moving over Sherlock. He leaned down and kissed him hard, slowly pushing into him.

"Slow," Sherlock breathed and then he looked up at John's face over him. "God," he moaned. "It's good." He pressed into another kissed and then squeezed his arms around John's back. "You okay?" he asked.

John nodded, petting hair out of his eyes and smiling down at him. He started moving his hips slowly, rolling into Sherlock. 

"Is this what you wanted?" Sherlock said softly. He was trying to match his breath to John's movements. His hands stroked John's back.

"I just wanted you," John murmured, kissing his mouth again.

"Move more," Sherlock said. He rocked his hips, encouraging John as well as creating friction between his cock and John's stomach. "Please," he moaned softly, sucking the skin on John's neck.

John nodded, pumping his hips harder into Sherlock's, moaning loudly and panting over him. Sherlock was tight and warm, and John couldn't get enough of him.

It had been so long since Sherlock had done this, he could tell he wouldn't last much longer. He squeezed his hand in between them and starting stroking, though even just his grip around himself was practically enough. "Say this is better," he huffed, teetering right on the edge.

John kissed his mouth hard, pumping harder and harder into him.

Sherlock melted into the kiss and he lost control of everything and came hard against their bellies, his hips jerking and his legs almost kicking out. "John, god," he moaned.

John moaned loudly, shouted out for Sherlock and came inside of him. His whole body seized and shook over Sherlock as he collapsed down against him. "Oh God," he breathed. Slowly he pulled out and settled close to Sherlock.

Sherlock turned slowly and squeezed himself around John. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly, still trying to catch his breath. 

"Yeah, you?" John asked, kissing his head. "Did you forget we haven't done this before?" He smiled.

"No," Sherlock said. "What do you mean?"

"You asked if it was better - better than when?" John asked.

"Just pretend I didn't say that," Sherlock said, pushing his face against John's chest.

John settled with him. "What did you mean?"

"I meant . . ." Sherlock said, still pressing his face to John's chest as if to hide, "I meant, better than with them . . ." He was ashamed that his jealous insecurity had come out like that -- he didn't want John to see that part of him, but he knew it was useless to lie.

"It was better, love, but not because of the physical feeling but because of the way I feel about you. I love you and that makes this better," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry for being like that. You shouldn't . . . you shouldn't have to deal with my jealousy anymore."

"It's okay, Sherlock. I get jealous too -- it's normal," John assured him.

"But you have nothing to be jealous of," Sherlock said. "I've never even liked another person like I like you." His fingers drew little circles on John's back. 

"But they like you. And one day some smart scientist is going to come along and impress you more than I ever have," he smiled.

"Don't be stupid, John," Sherlock said. "It'll only ever be you. We both know that. Everyone knows that. But you must tell me if you change your mind, John. It's different for you. So just promise you'll tell me if it happens, okay? I'll try to hold onto this moment when I feel jealous. But tell me if you change your mind." 

"I won't change my mind," John said. "And it's not any different for me than it is for you. I love you. It's only ever going to be you . . ."

"But if you do . . . I don't want to worry that I won't know. Just say the words 'I promise,'" Sherlock said. "I need to hear them, to file them away. Please." He squeezed himself even closer to John.

John pressed his mouth to Sherlock's head. "I promise I'll tell you."

"Thank you," Sherlock said. He filed the moment -- their bodies together, the words coming out of John's mouth -- so he had it when he felt jealous or worried again. "Thanks for having sex with me as well," he added, lifting his head and pulling a silly face before kissing John quickly on the lips.

John chuckled. "That was fun for me as well," he said. "We should do it again soon."

"Well, we might have to wait a bit," Sherlock said. "I have a feeling I'll be a bit sore -- my body's not used to . . . that kind of thing." He smiled and petted John's cheek.

"Okay," John said. "We can wait as long at you need."

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" Sherlock asked.

"Doing it the other way?" John asked softly.

"Are you curious?" Sherlock asked. "It doesn't matter to me. I promise."

"I am," he admitted.

"Well, there's plenty of time for everything," Sherlock said. "At the moment, I'm more interested in when you're planning on getting up to make me a cup of tea."

John smiled. "Only because you are sore," he said, getting up and throwing on his dressing gown. He petted his hair as he passed and made his way to the kitchen. Things hadn't turned out how he imagined -- with all the fighting and the hand cuffs -- but he couldn't be happier now.

Sherlock moved a little in the bed when John got up. He listened to him filling the kettle and imagine him standing there in Sherlock's dressing gown, waiting for it to boil. He seemed far away now -- after the different kinds of closeness they'd shared over the last day and a half -- Sherlock didn't want him so far away. He slowly slid out of bed, grabbing a clean pair of pajamas, gently bending to put the bottoms on. Then he went out into the kitchen and saw John standing there, just as he'd imagined.

"I missed you," he said, moving up behind him and sliding his arms around John's waist. "Don't ever go so far away again, okay?" He pressed his smiling face against John's shoulder.

John chuckled. "What will happen when I go back to work? I don't think I can handle it," he said, leaning back against him.

"I'm sure we'll figure it out," Sherlock said, squeezing him. "But not tonight. Let's just stay as close as possible tonight."

John poured the tea and handed Sherlock his mug, before pulling his wrist and dragging him into the sitting room. Things would be all right now.


End file.
